Hatch (The Dragons Of Laton) (15 page)

Ammon tried to speak but his tongue felt like a piece of leather. Working moisture into his mouth he finally rasped. “Where are you taking me?”

Pock gave him a sharp kick in the small of his back that sent him swinging wildly on the pole and he grunted in pain.

“Nothin’ you need worry ‘bout little piggy! Just Tirate himself wants to see ya!”

Ammon gritted his teeth. “Where’s my dragon?” He demanded.

Pock snickered, “Oh? Your dragon ya say? I’ve seen no such thing! Right Olms? Nothin’ at all! Course I do have a lovely lump of gold in this sack, would ya like a look-see?”

Something hit Ammon in the ribs so hard it knocked the wind out of him.

Olms growled. “See here Pock! You be careful with that carcass or Tirate will have both our heads swinging from the city gates!”

Pock cackled with glee. “Ya can’t damage a dragon! Them scales is harder than steel! Drop ‘em on the ground and ya as likely to break a rock than give ‘em a scratch!”

Ammon squeezed his eyes shut in anger. Fulgid’s body had been just tossed in a sack and would probably be sold in a market. The little dragon deserved better than this, and he was helpless to do anything about it.

It was late afternoon when the men carried him into a small clearing where three horses were tied. Ammon was thrown over a saddle and strapped down like a bag of grain, and the sack containing Fulgid was tied to the side. The men pushed the horses at a hard run through the thick woods and Ammon bounced painfully the whole way. It was nighttime when they arrived at the gates of the palace with the exhausted horses blowing and sweating. Olms cut the ropes from Ammon’s feet and the two men half dragged him down the halls as he tried to force his wooden legs to move.

They stopped at a large iron strapped door with a barred window and Olms rapped on it with his knuckles. After exchanging a few muffled words through the opening, the door swung open, and he was dragged down a hallway and shoved into a small windowless room. The heavy door to the room slammed shut, cutting off all but a thin trickle of light through a narrow opening at the bottom of the door. It was just enough for Ammon to see the ropes on his wrists, and he tore at them with his teeth until they worked loose. He rubbed circulation back into his hands and looked over the tiny room. Widthwise, if he spread his arms he could touch both walls and lengthwise there was just enough room to stretch out on the bare floor.

Tired and in pain, he lay down on the cool stones and closed his eyes. It didn’t matter anymore. Fulgid was gone. He had no place to go and no place to live. His sword and all his belongings were gone, even his gold ring. He’d taken that off and left it in the tent so he wouldn’t lose it digging Fulgid’s grave. The two men had probably searched the camp and taken everything of any value anyway. He wanted to howl in fury, but he had nothing left.

***

Boris returned to the camp to pick up Ammon just before dark. The dragon was gone and the shovel had been moved from where he had left it. He sighed. So the dragon finally died and Ammon buried it. He lifted the flap of the tent and saw Ammon’s belongings still inside but no sign of Ammon. He probably needed the time alone. He wouldn’t have been able to go far with that ankle though.

Boris began packing up the rest of the camp while he waited for Ammon to return. As he rolled up the bedroll he saw something flash as it fell from the blanket. He picked it up and looked carefully at the finely crafted gold ring engraved with a dragon. He knew it belonged to Ammon; he remembered seeing
the boy wearing it the first day they met. An odd thing for a penniless tender to own and he had intended to ask about it, but after seeing Fulgid he’d forgotten. He slipped it into his pocket and finished packing everything else and pulled down the tent. As he placed everything neatly into the bags on Ellis’s sides, he remembered the shovel. He went back to get it and as he picked it up he saw a dark wet stain on the blade. Peering closer he realized it was dried blood and cursed.

I
n the fast-fading light, he found the footprints of two men leading away from the camp heading south. Tracking them in the dark would be difficult, and they had a good head start on him already. If they had horses waiting where the terrain was better, they’d be within the city long before he could catch them. Cursing again, he quickly headed back to Ellis and took to the sky.

They flew as far south towards the city as he dared. He didn’t want to get any closer to those crossbows than he had to. Getting shot and killed wasn’t going to help Ammon or anyone else for that matter. He peered into the fast growing darkness and grated his teeth. If Tirate had time to install those crossbows inside the city, he may have more scattered throughout the nearby woods. Circling low, Ellis picked up a scent and snorted. Boris’ knuckles cracked as he gripped the hilt of his sword. As
he feared, he was too late. Whoever had taken Ammon had already made it to the city and was out of his reach. Frustrated, he turned Ellis back north. That boy had the worst luck in history.

***

It was well after dark when Boris reached the camp next to The Wall. The faint light of the rising moon illuminated the sheer face of a line of mountains that had been thrust violently up from the ground by some ancient cataclysmic event. From the air he could see campfires evenly spaced in neat rows near the bank of the Olog River. Even from a distance he could hear the water roar as it rushed past the camp and disappeared through a massive split in the mountainside.

Theo had chosen this site for good reason. The Wall and the Olog secured the camp on two sides. Any attacking force would be slow getting across the rugged wasteland, and then would then have to penetrate nearly two hundred dragons and knights to reach the king. Attack from the air was impossible considering all of the dragons were following Erik.

He let Ellis glide in to land on his own. Dragon eyes could see much better in the dark than his eyes ever could and Ellis had no problem choosing a spot. When Ellis came to a stop, Boris slid down and gave the black dragon an affectionate scratch behind the ear. It had been a long day for both of them, and it wasn’t over yet. A young trainee followed by a gray hatchling came running and offered to lead Ellis to his evening feed of several large wild boar carcasses. Nodding thankfully, Boris watched until Ellis began to eat before he headed to Erik’s tent.

The king’s camp was nestled in a small hollow carved into the cliff wall by centuries of wind and weather. A tent the size of a small house glowed warmly from the lights within. Lifting up the flap, Boris ducked and entered. The king sat with Theo at a makeshift table in the center. Several maps were scattered across the length of it and bright lanterns hung from the ceiling on short ropes, illuminating everything. Their heads rose in unison as he entered and Erik’s face broke into a sad smile.

“Well, Boris my old friend, it seems we’re at a crossroads. Theo seems to think Tirate’s declaration to claim the throne is not just treasonous, but an act of war. Although I agree it is certainly dishonorable, he could hardly do worse than I have these past few years.” A frown crossed his face and he continued. “Anyway, he won’t get the support of the Royal Court without a dragon. The kingdom won’t follow a leader without proof that he linked a dragon and he hasn’t got one.”

Boris stood silent for a moment, then nodded. “It is an act of war, and he has a dragon now. A golden one.”

Surprised, Theo stood up. “What? How?”

Boris threw his gauntlets onto the table in disgust. “By the time I got back to Ammon, he was gone. Taken by force. The dragon too. I don’t know if either of them is alive or dead. The dragon is more than likely dead but that won’t matter to Tirate. If he already spread the rumor that he’d linked to a sickly dragon then a dead one would be easier for him to handle I suppose. He’ll put on a show of mourning just as he’s doing right now for your supposed death, Erik, and nobody will be the wiser. The Court already thinks you are dead and if Tirate has a…had a dragon, and the law was fulfilled.”

Bowing his head towards Erik, Boris continued. “We could have proved him a liar just by bringing you back except…pardon me for saying this, sire…I hardly recognize you myself in your condition. We’d be hard-pressed to prove your identity to the Court before Tirate interfered.”

Theo sank back into his chair and cursed under his breath, and Erik tapped his chin with his forefinger thoughtfully. With a deep sigh, he looked at the two knights.

“As much as I like the boy, even if he still is alive, I must put the needs of Gaul above all else. Our first priority is to get that dragon back before Tirate can use it. Without it, he cannot claim the throne easily. Once we have the dragon, then we can free Ammon.

Traditionally a week of mourning is observed throughout the city after the death of a king. On the seventh day the new king has his coronation. Tirate has that much time to convince the Court he is linked. During the mourning period, he must allow all twelve of the Court members to view his dragon and satisfy them before they’ll offer their support. Today is the second day, we have very little time.”

Both Boris and Theo nodded in agreement.

***

When the sun rose, Boris found Theo dressed in a simple dirty cotton shirt, woven breeches, and a worn pair of work boots. It had taken him all morning to scour the camp finding worn out clothes that fit him. Boris walked around him, inspecting the disguise. He chuckled as they walked towards Ellis and he mumbled under his breath, barely audible, “Never thought I’d willingly have one of Tirate’s men in the King’s Guard.”

Theo’s eyebrows rose in mocked indignation. “Now see here! I’m a fine upstanding thug, and a good looking one too I may add!”

Boris missed a step and nearly choked. “Good looking? So you’re ugly and conceited too? It’s a wonder you don’t have brides awaiting in line for a chance to tie you to a farmers plow!”

Theo’s mouth gaped and Boris patted him gently on the shoulder. “Gifted with a silver tongue too? My you are quite the catch aren’t you?”

Theo felt his face turning red and Boris suddenly roared with laughter. Shrugging his shoulders Theo grinned. Very few knights ever married. Not many women could accept spending their life with a knight who shared his emotions through a link with a fierce-some beast. It was the price the knights paid to ride these venerable animals while their homes lay empty and their hearths remained cold.

After he’d said goodbye to his own dragon Theo helped Boris saddle Ellis, and the
two rode south. A few hours later, Theo watched as Ellis flew into the distance. He heaved a tattered sack over his shoulder and pulled an old weathered hat down over his eyes, then strode off towards the city of Gaul. He estimated he would reach the City gates by noon. After that, he’d find a tavern where he could rent a room. There was a lot of work to be done in only three days.

***

Ammon walked in small circles in the confines of his dark cell. It was difficult to know how long he’d been there. The only measure of time passing was when a bowl of thin gruel was passed through a slot in the door. His head ached almost constantly since he’d arrived and his skin felt so tight against his body he thought it might burst with each breath. The desire to dig at it with his fingernails was overwhelming, so he walked to keep his mind occupied. There was little else he could do.